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That Blessed Baby 



A FARCE IN ONE ACT 



By Edward Mumford 




',^ '.' ' '? 'j' ' > D>5 'l' '>' 



PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1 @ O 2 






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THE LIBRARY -^F 

CONGRESS, 
Two Corita Received 

.MAY. 8 1902 

COPYRISMT ENTRY 

CLASS iO^XXc. No. 
/ r^T- 

COPY 8. 



Copyright 1902 by The Penn Publishing Company 



^l-3QfS V 



•• • ••' 



• •• •' 



• • . • 

I • • * I * 






CAST OF CHAR.\CTERS 

Mr. John Wilton . . . Helen' s willhig slave 
Miss Helen Palmer . . The Baby' s willi?ig slave 
The Baby Who does not appear but is master of the situation 



Costumes Light and Summery 
Time in Representation : — Thirty minutes 



That Blessed Baby 



SCENE. — The seashore house of Miss Palmer's brother. 
In front, the lawn, shaded by trees. In the centre, 
front, a small table and two rocking-chairs of the sum- 
mer piazza variety. Back, the house, with an open 
windotv near centre, and a door right. The door is 
approached by porch, with a bench on each side. 

(^Curtain rising shows Wilton seated on one of the benches 

of the porch.) 

Wilton. How shall I say it? How shall I say it? I 
thought I had it down pat, but waiting here for her has 
driven it all out of my head. What little brain I have 
always seems to wabble when I'm with her. And if she 
meets my little effort with one of those liquid-air glances of 
hers I'm done for. But it's now or never. Let me see, I 

was going to begin {Looks at his watch.) Great 

Scott ! Eleven o'clock ! Half an hour of precious time 
lost already, and the boat leaves at twelve. Of course she's 
keeping me waiting on purpose. It's part of my penance. 
Oh, yes, she's going to make me eat humble pie, all right. 
But I think, I hope, that is, that afterward she'll be nice 

and {He whistles softly for a feiv moments.) Well, 

if she isn't, I must take my medicine like a little man, that's 
all, without squeaking. I don't doubt she has made \\\) her 
mind already what she will do with me. (Helen, with roll 
of knitting in her hand, appears at dooj-way in flat behind 
him.) Why, she knows she can curl me around her little 
finger — like that. {Holding; up his finger.) 

Helen. Good -morning, Mr. Wilton. 

Wilton. Oh — ah — how d'ye do? 



6 THAT BLESSED BABY 

Helen {smiling). I'm afraid I interrupted you. You 
were playing **this little pig went to market," weren't 
you? 

Wilton (recovering). Of course. I had just got to *' this 
little pig cried wee, wee, all the way home." Shall we play 
it again ? 

Helen. Isn't it too exciting for such a hot day? 

Wilton. Perhaps it is. Especially for the little pig. 

Helen. Then we won't harrow up his emotions. Shall 
we sit over here on the lawn in the shade? {They viove 
over, left, to the rocking-chairs on the lawn.) I'm sorry to 
have kept you waiting so long, Mr. Wilton ; but everybody 
has gone over to the golf tournament, and I'm taking care 
of the baby. He hasn't been well, and there's a new nurse, 
and I had to tell her what to do with him when he wakens. 
Do you mind my knitting while we talk? This is a blanket 
for the baby, and I want to finish it for his birthday. And 
how is the Pier — gay? 

Wilton. No. Since last Wednesday it has been like 
dust and ashes. 

Helen. Last Wednesday? The day I left. Thank 
you. But isn't Miss Ritchie still there? 

Wilton. I believe so. 

Helen. Oh, you believe so? I wonder what Miss 
Ritchie would say to that ? 

Wilton. What Miss Ritchie would say is a matter of 
indifference to me. 

Helen. Dear me. Since when ? 

Wilton. I forget. How long is it since I met you ? 

Helen. Thank you again. Very pretty. But which am 
I to believe — my ears to-day, or my eyes last — when was 
it? — Tuesday? Yes, the night of the dance. Now I 
thought I saw 

Wilton. Saw what? 

Helen. Well — I was looking for my shawl in the corner 
of the piazza, and it was quite dark, so of course I couldn't 
be sure 

Wilton. So that was you. I thought so. Now just let 
me tell you, Miss Palmer 

Helen. Yes, it was I. I'm very sorry. But indeed I 
went away as fast as I could, you know. I wouldn't for the 
world interrupt a promising bit of love-making. 

Wilton {impatiently). Love-making ! I protest 



THAT BLESSED BABY 7 

Helen. "Well, you were kneeling, you know, and you 
were holding her hand. 

Wilton. Now see here; I wanted to tell you about 
that. 

Helen. Indeed ? Are you sure it would interest me, 
Mr. Wilton? 

Wilton. Oh — please, listen a moment. I had to be 
civil to her, you know that. And I danced with her just 
once, that was all ; and she wanted to walk on the piazza to 
cool off. Well, she got a splinter in her shoe. I stooped to 
get it out for her, and I worked at it — down like this ; but I 
couldn't move it. Then she took a turn at it, and she got 

a bit of it in her finger (Helen, 7vhose face has as- 

s lotted a more and more abstracted expressio?i, rises and 
goes softly to the ivindoza of the house, a?id listens. W^ilton 
stooping forward and intent on his story, does not notice 
that she has left her chair.) And so, of course, I had to 
get it out for her. Now, what could be more commonplace 
than that ? (Looks up and sees the empty chair, and ^azes 
around blankly at Helen.') Why — what's the matter? 

Helen. I thought I heard the baby crying. Did you ? 

Wilton. The baby? Er — ah — no, I can't say I no- 
ticed it. 

Helen. I'm sorry I interrupted your story, and at the 
most exciting point, too. So you were holding her hand ? 
And then I appeared. How unfortunate. 

Wilton {with elaborate irony). Very. You see you 
made it impossible for me to strain her to my bosom, and 
caress her luxuriant golden tresses, and all that. 

Helen. Ah, then you were about to do that? Dear 
me, I really must be more careful about blundering in on 
these lovers' tete-a-tetes. 

Wilton. Oh, pshaw. You know that's all nonsense. 
{Leaning towards her.) You know well enough I don't care 
for Miss Ritchie. But you wouldn't let me explain. You 
never give me a chance to explain anything. 

Helen. Was there anything to explain ? 

Wilton. Yes, there was. About Miss Ritchie, and 
more. Do you remember the last night we were together 
up at Moosehead Lake, in July — how we paddled in the 
canoe, on and on, straight up a silver path to the moon ? 
By Jove, but you were beautiful that night ! And I said — 
do you remember what I said, Helen ? 



8 THAT BLES3ED BABY 

(Wilton takes a step towards he?', arid drops his cane noisily 
on the table. Helen looks up with an alarmed face, 
glaftcing at the window.^ 

Helen. Oh, Mr. Wilton, would you mind moving our 
chairs over here, further away from the window ? The 
baby is right in that room, you know, and I'm so afraid we 
will waken him. 

Wilton {biting his lip with vexation^. With pleasure. 
{He moves the chairs, and they sit down. Wilton re??iains 
silent.^ 

Helen. You were speaking of — of Moosehead. 

Wilton. Yes ; but you seemed to prefer not to hear 
about it. 

Helen {softly'). On the contrary, I have thought about 
it very often. 

Wilton. And the echo? 

Helen. Yes, now you mention it, I believe there was an 
echo. 

AViLTON {again hopeful). I was going away, and I 
called — you recollect — ''Shall I come back?" You re- 
member the answer we heard? But you said nothing, and 
I was afraid it was because your heart could not reecho the 
words. For, Helen, the echo said 

The Baby {inside). Yah-ah-ah ! A-hah, a- aha, 
a-hah ! Yah-a-a-ah ! 

Helen {starting). Oh, there's the baby. I'm so 
sorry, but I must go. 

Wilton. Oh, confound that baby ! 

Helen {indigfiantly). What did you say ? 

Wilton. Well, I declare it just seems determined to 
spoil everything for me — the little imp ! 

Helen {icily). Mr. Wilton, you seem to forget that this 
little imp, as you are pleased to call him, is the child of 
your friend, and my brother. 

Wilton. Now, Miss Palmer, Helen, you .mustn't think 
I meant that. It just slipped out. And I have to leave 
this afternoon. You can't begin to see how much depends 
on 

Helen. I begin to see how much I was mistaken in you, 
Mr. Wilton. No man can be truly strong who is not also 
truly tender; and any man who would speak so of a little 
helpless child — a baby 



THAT BLESSED BABY 9 

Wilton (desperately). Now, see here, Helen, you don't 
mean you would judge a man's character by a little thing 
like that ? 

Helen. Small acts show character more certainly than 
those that are well considered. 

Wilton. But 

{The Baby cries again.') 

Helen. Please do not detain me, I beg of you. And I 
may be kept some time, Mr. Wilton. If you should miss 
the boat I am sure Miss Ritchie would be desolated. 

Wilton. Oh, confound Miss Ritchie ! ^ That's no slip. 
I mean it. But the other — won't you accept my apology 
for it? And I'm awfully fond of children, I am, really. 
Won't you believe me ? I can prove it. 

Helen {pausing on the door-step, and looking down at 
him). How ? 

Wilton {earnestly). Why, by my sister Mary's chil- 
dren. You can ask her, ask them. 

Helen {smiling). Will sister Mary and children please 
step forward and testify? They don't seem to be present, 
Mr. Wilton. But I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll leave it to 
the baby. When I come out I'll bring him, and if you can 
treat him nicely, and if he likes you, I'll think about for- 
giving you. 

Wilton. Oh, all right. Only you won't expect me to 
hold him, and talk to him, and all that ? 

Helen. Certainly. 

Wilton. Why, I couldn't. 

Helen. Oh, yes you can. There's nothing like trying. 
You'd better practice, in the meantime. I'll expect you to 
be perfectly — tender. 

{She goes into the house. ) 

Wilton. The most provoking girl in America, and the 
dearest. I'm afraid she's in earnest; I know that look in 
her eye. I knew that splinter business would get me into a 
peck of trouble. Well, I came here to have it out with her, 
and I will — the baby willing — I'll do it. There he goes 
again. 

{The Baby cries a<^a/n, inside.) 
Helen {within, but heard through the open window). 



10 THAT BLESSED BABY 

They-er, they-er ! They-er, they-er ! Mussent kie. No, 
mussent. 

(Wilton, who stajids listening, is highly dive)' ted. ^ 

AViLTON. Funny thing, how women seem to think it 
necessary to talk to a baby like that. Now I can't imagine 
myself 

Helen {within). Oh, dis baby says '* I want my din- 
ner." He says "I want my bottle wite away." He says 
** I dess won't wait anudder minute, no I won't." 

Wilton. Now that's why infants don't talk. They 
don't have to. Any female relative will tell you right off 
what a baby means to say as soon as he opens his mouth. 

Helen (withi?i). We-e-el, he sail have his dinner, ess 
he sail. Was this blessed baby a-waitin', an' a-waitin', an' 
a-waitin', for his auntie, an' his nursie? Ess ee was, ess ee 
was, ess ee was ! 

Wilton (whose amusement visibly decreases). She said 
she would expect me to talk to him. Now if I thought she 
meant like that 

Helen (within'). An' auntie's baby was des de cutest 
baby ever was. An' de booest eyes, an' de weddest cheeks, 
an' de boofulest 'ittle feet, an' des de tweetest 'ittle pink 
toeses ever was, ever was, ever was ! 

Wilton (di^opping limply into a chair). 'Ittle pink 
toeses ! I see my finish. Of course she'll make me do it. 
The bigger ass I appear the better she'll like it. What's 
this? Some contraption to wrap the baby in, the little 
wretch. He's spoiled the game for to-day. I'll never be 
able to get through with it now. (^Lays roll of knitting ofi 
his arm like a baby, and looks down at it.) If I had you 
here now, you young scamp, I'd let you know how un- 
popular you are. If I'm ever your uncle I'll have it out 
with you some day. But it won't be your fault if I marry 
your Aunt Helen. {-Lifts the knitting.) Dear girl — her 
hands have touched this — every stitch of it. 

(Wilton lifts the knitting to his lips Just as Helen appears 
at the, window.) 

Helen. Oh, capital, Mr. Wilton, capital. You are 
practicing, I see. 

Wilton (hastily laying down the knitting). Practicing? 
I'm afraid I don't understand. 

Helen. Oh, you needn't be ashamed of it. You did it 



THAT BLESSED BABY II 

vfry well, really. In fact, I think I'll change my mind. I 
won't bring out the baby, but you can show me with the 
knitting just what you were going to do with him. I can't 
leave here just yet, but I'll sit in the window and watch 
you. Now begin. 

Wilton. Oh, come, Miss Palmer. Why, I'd look 
positively foolish. 

Helen. Hmm. You didn't seem to mind that — last 
Tuesday. 

Wilton. Now, please drop that business. 

Helen. Very well, if you are as successfully foolish 
now I will. 

Wilton. Then you are in earnest ? 

Helen. Certainly. 

Wilton (resigned). Oh, all right. You've made so 
many kinds of fool of me already a few more or less don't 
signify. What shall I do? 

Helen, There, that's a good boy. 1 begin to have 
hopes of you. Take up the knitting. (Wilton picks it up 
by one efid.) Oh, dear me, not that way. You'll strangle 
the child. 

Wilton. Well — hang it all— how's that? 

Helen. Mercy, do you want to break its little back? 
Across your arm. 

Wilton. Well — there. 

Helen. That's better. Now walk with it, and soothe it, 
you know — gently. (Wilton makes a violent effort to 
soothe the mock infatit, while Helen rocks back and forth 
with laughter.) There, that will do. Oh, you will be the 
death of me. Sit down ! (Wilton sits down.) 

Wilton. I'm delighted to be able to please you. What 
is the next inanity on the program ? 

Helen. Well, you might croon to it. 

Wilton. Certainly — anything to oblige a lady ; but, ah 
— ^just what is crooning? 

Helen. Why, singing, to put the baby to sleep, you 
know. Lullabies, and all that. 

Wilton {sin^s tn a loud, harsh voice). " Oh, I want 
yer, ma honey, an' I want yer mighty badly" 

Helen. There, I guess that's enough. I'm afraid you 
haven't crooned much lately, have you? 

Wilton. No, it's not one of my specialties. Anything 
else? Isn't the show about over ? 



12 THAT BLESSED BABY 

Helen. Oh, dear no. Why, you haven't said a word 
to him yet. Talk to him, please. 

Wilton. Ah, there, youngster ! Say, you're a peach, 
you are. Say, what's your name, hey? {To Helen.) Is 
that it? 

Helen. No, indeed. You must talk real baby talk, you 
know. 

Wilton. What — ah, like you ? 

Helen. Well, yes, like me. 

Wilton {who has an idea'). Oh. Yes. {To the 
viock infant.) They-er, they-er. Mussent kie — mussent 
kie. (7'<? Helen.) How's that? 

Helen. Excellent. You're improving. 

Wilton {waj^ming up to the game). We-el, he sail 
have his dinner : — ess ee sail, ess ee sail. 

Helen {suddenly sitting up straight). Oh ! 

Wilton. An' was he a-waitin', an' a-waitin', oh, a deffle 
long time for his cruel auntie? Was ee? 

Helen. John Wilton, you are making fun of me. 

W^iLTON {paying no attention to her). Ess ee was, ess 
ee was, ess ee was ! 

Helen. I didn't say that. I never talked that way. 

Wilton. Oh, didn't you ? 

Helen. No. Put down that knitting at once, you 
foolish 

Wilton. Dess de blessedest baby ever was. 

Helen. Oh, you won't? Well, then, I'm coming out 
to take it away from you this minute. {Disappearing from 
windozv.) 

Wilton {to the knitting). That fixed her. 

{Enter Helen, through the door. ) 

Helen. Now, sir, give me that knitting. 

Wilton {moving away from her). An' baby's auntie 
was dess de boofulest auntie ever was. 

Helen {following; him). Give me that knitting at once ! 

Wilton {still moving away). An* she had de booest 
eyes, an' de weddest cheeks, an' de littlest feet, and dess de 
tweetest 'ittle pink 

Helen. Mr. Wilton ! 

^^'ILTON• {coming up to her). E\-er was in dis Avorld. 

Helen {with lofty dignity). Will you give me my knit- 
ting ? 



THAT BLESSED BABY 



13 



Wilton. Yes, I will. {He gives it to her, and at the 
same time takes her hand.) 

Helen. Will you let go my hand ? 

Wilton. No, I won't. 

Helen {letting him keep it). You made fun of me. 

Wilton. My dear girl, didn't you make fun of me ? 
And I had to do something to get you just where you are. 
See here, I'm tired of being told I'm in love with that 
Ritchie girl. 

Helen. Well, aren't you ? 

Wilton. No, I'm not. I never was. I'm in love with 
you. I've tried to tell you so a dozen times, but you 
wouldn't let me. Don't hold me off any longer, please. I 
want an answer right now. 

Thy. BxBY {within). Yah-aha-a-ah ! 

Helen {smiling). There's one for you. 

Wilton. Very well. Tell me what he says this time. 

Helen. He says he thinks — you might be — could be, 
that is — quite 

Wilton {taking her other hand). Quite what ? 

Helen. Quite tender. That is, with proper training, 
you know. 

Wilton {putting his arm around her). Will he let me 
choose my own teacher ? 
Helen. Yes. 

Wilton. Then I'll begin the lessons at once, and pay in 
advance. {Kisses her.) 

Helen. And will you take back what you said about the 
baby? 

Wilton. Take it back ? I said '' confound the baby," 
didn't I ? That was when he was taking you away from 
me. But now he has brought us together— of course I'll 
take it back. Bless his heart ! Go ask him to come out 
and accept the thanks and apologies of— his Uncle John. 



CURTAIN 



> 



MAY 8 



- 190'? 



!V1AY 8 1902 

1 COPY DEL lOtAl,..,, 
MAY 8 1902 



MAY 12 1902 



Practical Elocution 




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The work includes a systematic treatment of Gesture 
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